


Alleyways of Touch

by Charmsilver



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8446384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmsilver/pseuds/Charmsilver
Summary: '“Some greeting,” said Steve, scowling as Bucky crowded him against the wall and placed his hands on either side of Steve’s face, pushing it this way and that so he could get a good look at Steve’s injuries.“What the hell happened?” he hissed, pushing Steve’s ice to the side and inspecting the split and bloody skin beneath. His fingers grazed the edge of the wound and Steve shivered, flinching away. “Nothing, all right?” Steve said, still scowling. “I’m fine.”'Steve can't stop getting into fights; Bucky's tired of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A fair warning before we begin: this fic is pure, unadulterated, unapologetic fluff. It's also pre-slash, though very touch-feely-huggy pre-slash.
> 
> It's also my first foray into Stucky fic. I had this idea kicking around in my head and needed to get it out, so here we are. I think there are a few details that don't sit perfect with the canon, but they're pretty minor so forgive me!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Steve had just managed to perch himself on the couch with a bag of ice pressed to his temple when someone knocked at the door, three sharp notes that caused the adjacent window to rattle. Sighing, Steve mentally gathered himself together and rose, slowly, from the soft couch cushions. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his ribs and shuffled into the hallway, where he could see a silhouette fidgeting behind the frosted glass. 

He could tell by the person’s outline that it was Bucky, and he managed to fix a grin onto his face, hoping the bruising didn’t look as bad as it felt.

“Hey Bucky,” he said as the door swung open.

Bucky was dressed in a casual shirt and trousers, and he was grinning, holding a paper bag out in front of him.

“What are we celebrating?” asked Steve, noting the way the paper crumpled and twisted around the neck of some bottle or other. 

But Bucky didn’t seem to have heard him. He’d caught sight of Steve’s face and the grin he’d been wearing slipped from his lips. “Shit,” he said at once, and stepped inside quickly, pushing the door shut behind him and plonking the bottle down on the floor where it fell over and rolled a little ways down the hall.

“Some greeting,” said Steve, scowling as Bucky crowded him against the wall and placed his hands on either side of Steve’s face, pushing it this way and that so he could get a good look at Steve’s injuries.

“What the hell happened?” he hissed, pushing Steve’s ice to the side and inspecting the split and bloody skin beneath. His fingers grazed the edge of the wound and Steve shivered, flinching away. 

“Nothing, all right?” Steve said, still scowling. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right,” said Bucky, hands now gripping Steve’s shoulders. “You look real bad this time.”

“I told you, I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Will you quit it?” he added, as Bucky drew his fingers over the bruise at Steve’s jaw.

Bucky’s eyes flashed. “What was it this time, Steve?” he said, finally giving him some space and stepping back. “You’ve been in a fight again.”

“So what if I have?” said Steve, returning the ice to his temple. He knew he was being petulant, but he really could take care of himself; he didn’t need Bucky worrying about him all the time.

With a sigh Bucky began guiding Steve towards the kitchen, where he pushed him bodily down onto a chair at the table and motioned for him to sit still. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the bathroom and emerged a moment later with antiseptic cream and a damp cloth. Gently he dabbed at Steve’s cuts and applied a little cream to the worst of them. Steve let him do it; he was tired, and his head was beginning to throb. When the job was done, Bucky pulled up a chair opposite Steve and sank into it, rubbing at the bone between his eyes with forefinger and thumb.

“So,” he said, looking at Steve once more. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

The evening sunlight was filtering through the blinds of Steve’s kitchen window, shedding orange light across the grimy walls. Somewhere in the distance a bell tolled and Steve’s head gave a nasty twinge. 

“I was walking home,” he said slowly, “and I was going past that alley by Rothman’s – you know the one?”

“I know it,” said Bucky in a low voice.

“There were these two kids down there; they had some other kid backed against the wall, looked like they were giving him a hard time so I told them to back off.” Steve shrugged, the pain in his ribs reminding him of what had happened next. “They asked me if I had a problem, and I said that I did actually. Well, they didn’t like that one bit.”

“No kidding,” said Bucky. “So they beat you up.”

Steve sat up straighter, his jaw set. “I wasn’t just gonna walk by and pretend like I hadn’t seen anything, Buck. You know I couldn’t have.”

Bucky sighed, but there was a fragmentary smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, I know, Steve. That’s not your style. But – Jesus – you’re killing me here.” His elbow was on the table, his head resting against his palm. There was an unreadable look in his eyes, like he’d just said something he hadn’t meant to. 

Indignation swelled in Steve’s chest. “I can take care of myself, you know. You don’t have to worry so much.”

A wry smile flitted over Bucky’s lips, then disappeared just as quickly. He surveyed Steve with darkened eyes. “What am I supposed to do then, huh?” He leaned closer. “Let a buncha losers punch your lights out until one day you don’t wake up?”

“Buck – “ Steve’s anger was evaporating. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“Isn’t it?” said Bucky, shaking his head. “Look at you, you’re one black eye away from a serious concussion. What about next time? And the next?” Bucky looked up at the ceiling and blew a long stream of air from out between his lips. “I’m not always gonna be around to back you up. Or patch you up afterwards.”

“What?” asked Steve. “What are you talking about?” His head was aching more than ever now, but Bucky had something important to say, and Steve had a sinking feeling he knew what it was.

Bucky grinned, though it was only half-hearted. “I joined up,” he said, sitting a little straighter in his chair.

The bell from outside clanged faintly again, and Steve blinked. “Bucky, that’s – “ he fixed a smile onto his face. “That’s great.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” he said, nodding curtly. “It’s about time I did something for this country.” But the resolve in his jaw was forced, and his eyes were sullen and downcast. 

Steve reached out a hand and curled it over Bucky’s knee. “What is it?” he asked, voice gentle.

Bucky shook his head. “Nothing – nothing. Just – “ he looked at Steve then, that curious expression in his eyes again. “Stop fighting, will you? One of us has gotta stay in one piece.”

For a moment Steve said nothing, then he tightened his grip on Bucky’s knee. “If you’re going,” he said, “then I’ve got no excuse not to. We’ll go together,” he added, nodding emphatically. 

Bucky smiled – a real one this time – and slipped his warm hand over Steve’s, squeezing. “You know they’ll never take you.”

But Steve’s resolve was set; he shrugged. “No sense in not trying. I’ve got just as much responsibility as anybody else.” He turned away to look out the window at the dusky sunset, which was rapidly turning the sky from orange to pink, and he thought about what it would be like to fight on the front lines. He heard Bucky hiss, then felt smooth fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. Bucky had spotted the bruises on his abdomen, and was pulling Steve’s shirt up to get a better look.

“Steve,” he breathed when he saw the mottled skin over Steve’s ribs. He scooted his chair closer and began to prod softly at the bruises, making Steve wince. “I think this rib’s broken,” he said, pressing down on a spot just below Steve’s chest. Steve made a sound in the back of his throat and grimaced as pain shot through him, though Bucky had already moved his fingers away and was resting them on Steve’s waist. “Yep,” he said, “definitely broken. You should probably go to the emergency room, you know.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s nothing they could do.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Lucky you’ve got me then, huh?” said Bucky, grinning slyly. 

Steve rolled his eyes, but Bucky didn’t notice; he was already pulling Steve into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around Steve’s back and shoulders and burying his face in Steve’s hair.

A little startled, Steve took a moment to respond, but then he reciprocated, curling his arms around Bucky and resting his cheek on his shoulder. “Hey,” he murmured into Bucky’s collar.

It might have been his imagination, but Steve was sure he felt Bucky place a brief kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “You big idiot,” he told Steve, though his voice was thick with affection. Steve huffed, but let Bucky hold him closer, let himself press his nose into Bucky’s neck and breathe in and out slowly, comforted by the familiar scent of his skin.

When his bruises faded, he’d enlist. But right now he was content to stay where he was, lulled into unconsciousness by the rhythm of Bucky’s strong, steady heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Richard Jackson's poem 'Objects in This Mirror are Closer Than They Appear'.


End file.
